Baltimore Beauty

By Sue Thornton

Thirty-three years after Rachel Clark died, Kiri Alexander is summoned by a child's ghost to help solve the mystery surrounding Rachel's death.

Thirty-three years after eight-year-old Rachel Clark's body is found at the bottom of a ravine, her ghost appears in Miss Ethel's flowerbeds. Kiri Alexander discovers a well-loved Raggedy Anne doll outside her door when she attempts to shoo the trespasser away. Little did Kiri know the doll and Rachel's ghost would tear down the wall she'd built over the years to control her psychic powers and open the floodgate to her own childhood memories she'd rather keep buried. All Rachel wants is for Kiri to find her little sister, Sally.

 

Once introduced to homicide detective, Logan Mendoza, a true skeptic of the paranormal, Kiri asks for his assistance in locating the report of Rachel's death to confirm her visions. Soon Kiri and Logan become entangled in dark secrets of murder and political corruption. With Logan's help Kiri relies on her visions to solve Rachel's death and Sally's disappearance. In turn Kiri helps Logan find the daughter he never knew existed. Doubt, anger and hostility turn to love, as Logan and Kiri grow close in the quest to find a lost child and to right a wrong three decades old.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Jul 22, 2023
• ISBN: 9781590880364

Book preview

Baltimore Beauty

Sue Thornton

A Wings ePress, Inc.

Paranormal Romantic Suspense Novel

Edited by: Elizabeth Struble

Copy Edited by: Gail Simmons

Senior Editor: Pat Casey

Executive Editor: Lorraine Stephens

Cover Artist: Chrissie Poe

All rights reserved

NAMES, CHARACTERS AND incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Wings ePress Books

Copyright © 2001 by Susan E. Thornton

ISBN  978-1-59088-036-4

Published In the United States Of America

Wings ePress Inc.

3000 N. Rock Road

Newton, KS   67114

Dedication

Baltimore Beauty

is dedicated to the memory of my mother,

Virginia Weekly

and to those who have left this earthly plane before me,

yet continue to visit in my dreams.

Acknowledgement

I would like to offer my gratitude and appreciation to Deputy Kevin Pohlen

of the Lancaster County Sheriff’s department

with his investigation feedback;

Lisa Lozano for her Spanish endearments;

and Elizabeth Meyer

with the Nebraska Department of

Health and Human Services.

Special thanks to Frank Sherbondy

for proofing the manuscript,

*lizzie starr and Sandy Aguilar

for their encouragement and suggestions

and to the wonderful editors,

Elizabeth Struble and Pat Casey

for believing in my story.

One

The wicker swing rocked gently to and fro in a gentle rhythm in the sunroom while a fire in the woodstove crackled brightly and chased away the unseasonably cold, damp air. From the gray sky, rain fell splashing its tears against the glass roof. Peacefulness and calm washed over Kiri after a hectic week at work. Taking deep breaths, she absorbed the good and exhaled the bad, practicing the breathing technique learned in meditation class.

Tugging the blue and white coverlet up over her lap, Kiri picked up a piece of sewing. No matter how much she tried the rhythmic breathing, the creative process of sewing did more to calm her than anything else. When Kiri told her friends most of her worries were solved while she stitched, they looked at her as if she were crazy.

A catchy tune played in her head and she began to hum along. She slipped a fine needle under the edge of the appliqué and caught a thread of the fabric base. While she continued to stitch, a deep red rose bloomed on the off-white fabric. Warmth rushed over her as she thought about the hot summer days when everything seemed so alive, so eager to be free. Unlike the hibernation of the upcoming winter, where all you cared about was staying warm and cozy. She smiled, for now she could work on the quilt blocks, pretend it was summer and bring back the joy and excitement of the season.

Kiri liked to weave stories while she stitched. Each block came to represent a character, his or her life, and emotions. Today the block filled with a basket of flowers was a grand Southern matriarch; proud and demanding. Yet underneath the surface she was fragile as the petals of one of her roses. Hurt and betrayed by her philandering husband, she tried to hide behind a toughness she didn’t feel.

A movement outdoors caught her attention. The needle pricked her finger and the calm shattered in an instant, leaving her vulnerable. She popped the wounded appendage into her mouth and tucked the needle into the fabric.

Dropping the quilt block, Kiri wrestled for release from the coverlet and then stood to walk to the rain covered windows. She squinted out into the yard.

What did she think she saw? A forgotten edgy sensation eased back into her body placing every tingling nerve back on guard. Someone was in the flowerbeds.

Miss Ethel was so particular about her plants, Kiri needed to tell the intruder to leave. She hurried towards the door, stopping short when she realized she wasn’t wearing shoes. Turning, she ran through the kitchen and dining room to where she’d left the slip ons by the front entrance. After rushing back through the house and out the sunroom door, she found the garden empty. The cold rain pelted Kiri, and shivering, she held up her hands to shield her eyes and searched the yard. No one.

A small bundle rested against the inside door when she stepped back under the awning. Bending down, she picked up the wrapped bundle and unfolded it. Raggedy Anne’s embroidered black eyes stared up at her from a faded cloth face. Kiri stared in fascination as a shudder of apprehension joined the envelope of cold washing over her. A frown furrowed her brow before she turned to glance around the yard again.

A startled cry burst forth and her heart raced wildly in her chest when a drab, olive-green shape rounded the corner of the house. The shape jerked, revealing the wide blue eyes of her neighbor and friend, Bran. For crying out loud, Kiri. Why are you standing out here in the pouring rain without a jacket?

I could ask you the same thing, she snapped. You scared the living daylights out of me. Not to mention you look like a sick cucumber in that getup.

Ha, ha. At least I’m dry. Bran glanced at the doll she held in her hand and cocked an eyebrow. Aunt Ethel thought she saw a kid playing in the yard and asked me to come check it out ‘cause the kid wasn’t wearing anything but underwear. He gestured at the doll and grinned. I didn’t find anyone. There must have been someone here. A chuckle escaped from deep in his throat. Unless the doll is yours.

Kiri turned to study the garden. She shivered when icy fingers threaded up her spine. It wasn’t just from the cold.

No. She shook her head. No, the doll’s not mine. When she looked down at the doll, the cloth was bone dry except where her wet hands left their imprint.

An old, familiar feeling crept over her and she tried to force it back. This time she wouldn’t win; the feeling was too strong, too powerful. Kiri couldn’t explain how she knew. She just did. It was like all the other times, only this ‘one’ wouldn’t be pushed away. She shivered again.

KIRI WOKE WITH A START, the doll clutched tightly to her chest. Each inhalation of air was agonizing and her body ached with fear. With each shallow breath she took, the terror plaguing her released the tight grip on her muscles and limbs. Wiping her hand across her cheek, she found the damp remains of tears. The dream was so real. I felt the fear. And the pain. So much pain.

Laying the doll on the bed, Kiri rose on shaking legs. Her nightgown was soaked with sweat. As she moved toward the bathroom, she discovered the bottoms of her feet were raw and sore from walking barefoot through the woods.

Her inner voice whispered words of logic...You didn’t walk barefoot through the woods, Kiri. The little girl did; the one carrying the doll...

Kiri retrieved the doll and stared into the knowledgeable, embroidered eyes. Her fingers touched each strand of red yarn hair.

Fragments of the dream trickled through her as she focused all her attention on the fabric toy. Tiny currents of electricity coursed through her fingers and into her body.

Raggedy Anne, who do you belong to? Where did you come from? she whispered into the silence.

THE WORN FABRIC FACE faded and disappeared. China blue eyes set in a cherub face surrounded by dirty blonde hair stared back at her. Tears rolled down the bruised, swollen face and left tracks among the dirt, cuts and scrapes. The puckered, heart shaped mouth was poised to open and the child’s low terrified cry filled the air.

KIRI DROPPED THE DOLL and backed away from the bed. Her chest heaved with each gasp for breath while her gaze remained on the still object, afraid it would move. Afraid of what the doll knew.

A slight movement caught her eye and glancing up, Kiri found a little girl of seven or eight standing in the corner. The child wore the same torn and tattered sleeveless tee shirt and cotton underpants Kiri had seen in her dream.

Who are you? Kiri whispered. She gripped the bodice of her nightgown under her breasts and remained frozen as time stood still. Fascinated, she stared as the child shimmered in the early morning light.

My name’s Rachel, the girl sobbed. I can’t find Sally.

Who’s Sally? Kiri knotted her nightgown in her cold, clammy hands. A wave of relief overcame her when she glanced around the room and didn’t see anyone else. How did she get in?

My sister. The child’s face twisted in pain. Help me find her.

Why me? Kiri asked. Where’s your mommy? A sick sensation formed in her stomach because she already knew the answer. Closing her eyes, Kiri wished the child gone. Please leave me alone. Taking a deep breath, she counted to ten before opening them. The girl was still there.

Because you will talk to me. Nobody else listens to me. Please help me. Rachel limped closer, her face contorting in pain with each step.

Red welts covered Rachel’s arms and legs. A small rivulet of blood ran down the inside of her thigh. Horrified, Kiri knew she needed to help this little girl. But how?

With another agonizing step, Rachel moved towards Kiri. You found Annie. She belongs to Sally. It’s her favorite baby doll. Sally needs her baby, Rachel begged.

Kiri glanced over at Raggedy Anne. The face had returned to cotton cloth and yarn. I found her between the doors. Someone placed her there yesterday while I was gone. Was it you? Did you put her there? Kiri looked back toward the window. Where are your parents? Where do you live?

The child held her hand out toward Kiri. Her body shimmered, wavered and then disappeared.

How was that child supposed to put the doll in the doorway? She isn’t even real. She squinted and thought back. Bran could be playing one of his sick jokes. He was the only one that could possibly have placed the doll there. He was outside...but he also said Aunt Ethel saw the child in the gardens. I saw something; someone. Could it have been her? Kiri shook her head in denial. Impossible, one minute she was there, the next minute she was gone. Okay, so who left the doll behind?

KIRI FLED TO THE BATHROOM. She prolonged the hot shower in a weak attempt to stop the shaking that encompassed her to the very core of her being. Sitting in the corner of the bathtub, she let the water beat down on her until the spray became ice cold. Resigned, she stepped from the shower and wrapped a towel around her, tucking the ends snuggly between her breasts.

With unusual timidity she opened the door and glanced around the room before stepping out of the safe refuge. The doll remained in a forgotten heap on the bed.

An inner voice taunted her. Coward. What are you so afraid of? You’re letting your imagination run rampant again. There isn’t anyone here; there never was anyone here. You were daydreaming.

On silent feet, she padded across the room. Her gaze remained on the doll while she dressed in a bulky blue sweater, white leggings, and tennis shoes. Running her fingers through her wet hair Kiri glanced toward the corner where she imagined Rachel had appeared. Kiri slowly ventured toward the bed, and emitting a loud groan at seeing her hands shake, reached for the doll.

Taking a deep breath, she picked the baby doll up. The embroidery stitches were slightly frayed and a tear in her dress had been mended with care. Annie was well loved by someone. Somewhere, some little girl would be missing her baby. Searching her memory, she could only think of two houses where little girls lived in the prominently elderly neighborhood.

Kiri turned the doll over and began removing the worn clothing. Finding script in faded ink on the doll’s back she rubbed her fingers over the fabric pulling the material taut in an effort to see better.

S—-y Clark –62 was all she could decipher.

Was this the ‘other’ in my dream? The face on the doll? Rachel was definitely the little girl I observed walking through the woods. She was dragging the doll. Why did she have the doll and not Sally? Especially if Annie was Sally’s favorite baby. Closing her eyes she tried to pull the dream closer into her conscience, while muttering a quick prayer.

Am I taking this dream a little too seriously? The girl in my room was a figment of my imagination, carried over from my dream.

But, am I sure? Kiri murmured out loud. There was only one way to find out the answer, either the hard way or the easy way. She sighed. She wondered why she even bothered, it was always the same. I’ll do it the hard way. She would forego her sewing today and go to the State Historical Society to see what she could find out. She was determined to prove it was only a dream and nothing more than her imagination. She decided she really needed to get involved in school again to keep her mind occupied.

Kiri grabbed the phone and dialed. Hey, Sierra, are you really busy this morning? Would it be okay if I came down and looked through the birth records?

What are you looking for? Sierra asked.

Kiri stared into the room. I’m not sure.

I don’t see a problem. I can set you up in one of the side rooms. About what time frame are you looking for? I’ll pull the microfiche and have it ready for you.

Kiri bit her bottom lip. This is a wild goose chase. I don’t know when they were born, let alone where. And it was just a dream. What am I doing? Say 1950 to 1970. Proving to myself it was just a dream. A normal dream that any normal person had.

Okay, just tell Rita I’m expecting you. She’ll let you back to my office, Sierra replied.

The hum of the dial tone startled Kiri, leaving her to wonder what Sierra had said. Something about Rita.

KIRI LEANED BACK IN the chair and stretched. Her shoulders ached from hunching forward and a pain grew behind her eyes from watching the blur of the advancing film and reading too small print. She glanced at the clock and groaned. She’d been at this for almost two hours already. So much for using her vacation to work on the quilt. She was going to prove one way or the other that the things she saw in her head were just make believe.

Sighing, she leaned toward the fiche reader and slowly rotated the film searching for the name of each newborn. Wiggling her foot against the chair leg Kiri continued the slow journey through the years. The tiny wheels changed gears when she reversed the machine. Kiri felt her eyes widen as she read the announcement of Rachel Clark’s birth on April 6, 1959. Then, pressing the print button for a copy of the document, she moved the film forward to continue the search for Sally Clark.

Her rational inner voice spoke quietly. It’s a coincidence, Kiri. Clark is a common name. So is Rachel. Especially back then.

Okay, but if I do find a Sally Clark born to the same parents as Rachel then what does it mean? Kiri spoke out loud.

Did you say something? Sierra spoke from the doorway.

Kiri jumped and turned to stare at her friend.What?

Sierra’s white teeth gleamed against the contrasting ebony colored skin.

Kiri shook her head. I was talking to myself. Glancing back at the fiche reader her concentration was captured by the words in front of her. I didn’t hear you come in, she mumbled.

I thought I’d see if you wanted to take a break. Who’s Rachel Clark? She was born before either one of us. Do you know her from somewhere?

Kiri glanced up to find Sierra next to her holding the printed document, her eyebrow raised. I don’t know. Kiri sighed. I’m not sure.

Sierra rested her hip against the desk and studied Kiri. You saw something again, didn’t you? And you are desperate enough to try to convince yourself it can’t possibly be true?

Leaning forward she placed a hand on Kiri’s shoulder. Kiri, you know and I know you have psychic abilities.

No, I don’t know that, Kiri snapped and impatiently brushed her hair away from her face. I have an overactive imagination. These names are so common I was bound to find a child with that particular name.

So what are you looking for? Sierra asked in a soft voice. Leaning back against the table, her gaze was intent.

Turning away from Sierra’s probing look, Kiri forwarded the machine. I’m going to prove one way or the other, Rachel didn’t have a sister named Sally. Kiri chanced a glance at her friend. Not liking the sympathetic look she found there, she looked back at the reader.

Shit, she muttered and removed her finger from the little red metal button.

Sierra looked over Kiri’s shoulder and read the words on the birth certificate before letting out a soft breath. So what does this mean?

I don’t know. I was hoping you could tell me, Kiri whispered pushing the print button and waiting for the paper to emerge.

What are you going to do now? Sierra asked.

Kiri rolled the film onto the reel and placed it in the proper container. I’m going to the library to read the newspaper. Kiri rose to her feet. Pulling a dollar bill from the pocket of her jacket she handed the money and the film canisters to Sierra. If what I think I saw is correct, one of those little girls was lost. It may have made the news.

Overcome with the knowledge she needed to follow the path Rachel was leading her down, Kiri cringed inside. Thanks for letting me come in today, Sierra. I know you bent the rules a little bit for me.

You don’t think this is your imagination anymore do you? Sierra didn’t wait for a reply and changed the subject. Not a problem, Kiri. Just remember if you need any help, please let me know. She squeezed Kiri’s arm. I’ll do whatever I can, you know that.

I know, Sierra. Kiri hugged her and went to the door. You’re too eager to help; that’s the problem. If I wasn’t pushed by my imagination, I could guarantee you would be right behind me, shoving all the way.

She paused at the entrance wanting to say something more, but not knowing exactly what, she continued walking.

You call me and let me know what you find out, Sierra called to Kiri’s retreating back.

Kiri waved over her shoulder and hurried from the State Historical Society. The lump in her heart warned her not to ignore the ‘feelings’ even as she continued trying to push them away.

A SHORT TIME LATER, Kiri sat skimming the headlines of newspapers from 1962 on. The dream people were wearing lightweight jackets or sweaters. It was cool, but not bitterly cold. She shrugged. So possibly spring, early summer or late summer, early fall. The child was in the woods, so it would be cool anyway. The child was cold. Child. Why do I keep calling her the child? Because it’s safer. If I call her by name she becomes real.

Her inner companion asked curiously, Would that be such a bad thing?

Leaning back and closing strained eyes, Kiri raised her hands to massage the tightness in her forehead. Yes, then I would have to admit I am not normal. A soft cough caught Kiri off guard and she snapped her head up to find an elderly woman looking down at her with concern.

Are you ill, young lady? Is there anything I can do for you? the woman asked.

I’m fine, thank you, just tired eyes. Kiri smiled at her. A tingling sensation buzzed along her neck and she shivered, wondering when they would turn the air conditioner off.

Anything in particular you’re looking for? the woman asked, leading Kiri to believe she was a librarian.

I’m not sure anything will be here. Kiri noted the old-fashioned clothing and hairstyle; some people seemed to feel more comfortable in a certain era and refused to move forward. She liked the difference because that’s what made everyone so individual and interesting.

Do the names Rachel and Sally Clark mean anything to you? she asked on a whim. The woman reminded her of a teacher Kiri had in grade school who never seemed to forget anything.

The woman’s lined face crumpled into sadness. Such a tragedy. Let’s see, that happened in late August... She shook her head and pulled a lace handkerchief from her pocket, releasing a slight scent of spice. No, early September 1967. Poor dears. She placed the delicate cloth under her nose. I’m sorry, please excuse me. She hurried away, her heels clicking a staccato beat on the linoleum before she disappeared.

Kiri stared after her. The faintest scent of lilacs and oranges lingered in the air. Entrancing her, the scent tugged at a thought buried deep within her subconscious. With a slight shrug, she turned back to the fiche reader, forwarding the film. The only sound in the small room was the whirring of the machine.

EIGHT-YEAR-OLD GIRL FOUND

by Vernon Mitchell

APB Hopkins National Park, Maryland

The body of eight year old Rachel Clark was found in the early morning hours of September 6, 1967. Rachel was reported missing earlier during the week. She had been located wandering through the park on September 3, 1967 and was taken to the First Aid Station where they kept her until her family could retrieve her.

Jina Spickelmeyer, a nurse at the First Aid Station told this reporter that Rachel stated she was trying to find her little sister, Sally. Miss Spickelmeyer left the room to answer the telephone and when she returned Rachel was gone.

Hikers notified Park officials after spotting what they thought to be a body lying on the rocks at the base of Tinker’s Ravine. Upon further investigation, rangers located the missing child. Rachel Clark was transported to Saint Matthews Hospital where she was pronounced dead.

Andrew and Ruth Clark could not be located for an interview. An autopsy will be performed to determine the cause of death.

KIRI PRINTED THE ARTICLE and continued through the daily news until a small article appeared later in the same week. Rachel Clark’s death was reported to be accidental due to a fall into the ravine that broke her neck. Mr. and Mrs. Clark claimed Rachel wandered away from the campsite. Her little sister, Sally, had remained at home with a babysitter, due to a fever and had not accompanied them on the camping trip. A distraught Mrs. Clark had promised Rachel one final campout before school started, not realizing it would be the child’s last.

What about the doll? Why would Rachel have Sally’s doll if the doll was Sally’s favorite? What four-year-old child would give her sister or brother their favorite toy to take on a camping trip? I wouldn’t. Especially if I was the one staying home due to an illness. I would want everything I was comfortable with around me to make me feel better.

The tingling along the base of Kiri’s neck increased as she continued to read.

Kiri copied the second article and moved forward through 1967 and into 1968. Almost eight months after Rachel’s death the obituary of Andrew Clark, the father of Sally and Rachel, was printed. But there wasn’t any mention of Sally Clark. Rachel was listed as having preceded her father in death.

After opening a spiral notebook, Kiri wrote her questions and findings. Sally Clark existed. I have proof. Where is she? Why did Rachel think she was lost? Why don’t they mention her in her father’s obituary as a survivor? Unless she is dead. Kiri printed off the obituary and reeled the film onto the roll to turn in, with the intention of finding the librarian, to see if she could tell her something. Why did she call them poor dears? She claimed it a tragedy. Kiri scrawled another question on the page. Who babysat Sally that weekend?

Picking up the rolls of film, Kiri went to the desk. The young woman who helped her earlier sat behind the counter. Can I get anything else for you? She smiled. Did you find what you were looking for?

Partially. The other librarian on duty gave me the dates I was looking for and she seemed to know where I needed to find the information. Would it be possible for me to talk with her? Kiri bit her lower lip at the young woman’s confused expression.

I’m the only one down here. What did she look like? It’s possible she came from upstairs, but I can’t place another librarian on this floor today. She shrugged her shoulder and gave a good natured smile. I’ve only been here for a couple of weeks and I’m not sure I know everyone.

Kiri squinted her eyes and pictured the woman in her mind. She is just a little shorter then me, maybe five four, in her late sixties or early seventies and slender. She stands rim rod straight and wears her white hair pulled into a bun. Her dress is black with a white lace Peter Pan collar. Then Kiri tapped her left breastbone. There’s some kind of brooch here.

The librarian shook her head. No one comes to mind fitting that description.

An older man standing next to them spoke, causing Kiri to jump. You just described Evelyn Meiers. She was the librarian down here until she died ten years ago. Miss Meiers was a brilliant woman and never forgot a thing. I’ve heard her footsteps over the years, but I haven’t been fortunate enough to see her. I’d like to, I really miss our stimulating conversations. He placed his hat on his head and bowed. Good day, ladies.

Oh my. The librarian clutched nervously at her neck. Dead? He’s saying you conversed with a...ghost, she whispered in a hoarse voice.

Kiri smiled warily. Thank you for your help. Gathering her belongings close to her chest, she hurried from the room.

THE PHONE RANG ONCE. Sierra Porter.

Kiri leaned against the wall of the phone booth. Sierra, can you do a little research for me?

"Kiri, what did you find